think of yourself that way or you'll never be right. You are a woman. A woman like you wears feminine frills like this nightie." She thrust the gauzy clothing into the slender hands that gripped the arms of the chair so tightly.

Esteban's lower lip quiv- ered, and he had to bite down hard on it to keep even a sem- blance of self-control. A man wasn't supposed to show emo- tion, he thought, trying to make his face impenetrable to Consuela's gaze. But how much longer would he remain a man under her prompting. He cringed at the thought. “I can't," he whispered, a tear squeezing out unbidden from his darkly lashed eye.

"Why not?" Consuela's voice had undergone a dramatic metamorphosis. Now she was gently, constrained, understand-

ing.

"I-I've seen the way you two look at each other when I do something as Irena," the words tumbled out in a flood from his now tasteless lips. "I'm not a woman, or any-

•

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""

thing else like. I'm a man, and I'm going to stay one." "Ah, I see,' said Con- suela thoughtfully. "You think that we think less of you as a person because of what we make you do."

"You do," said Esteban, his body still rigid as the soft nightdress brushed against his thigh as it swung in Consuela's hand. It was a remarkably gentle sensation, and he won- dered what it would feel like to be clothed entirely in those light ribbons and frills.

"

Consuela turned abruptly back to Isabel. "She's right,' she said. "And I would applaud her stand if it weren't for the desperate situation we're all

in.”

She glanced back at Esteban with a soft, little smile on her own dark-red lips. "I hadn't realized how much this..... how much we really are asking of you."

Esteban felt some of his tension float away. "I can wear

my regular night clothes," he breathed, not knowing that he still maintained Irena's vocal register, as Consuela had taught him.

"No," said Consuela regret- fully. "Everything I spoke of before still applies. But if you wear this, I promise you much more considerate treatment from Isabel and I."

Isabel turned away and busied herself at the cosmetics table. What was provided for this youth would have been the envy of any real girl in the capital. Isabel didn't dare to look at him, she knew that's what he was, in case he saw her expression. Behind her, she heard the creak of the chair, a soft footstep or two, and then the quiet closing of the bathroom door.

Isabel turned. Consuela was stretching herself out on the femininely furnished bed, her fingers pressing in just above her closed eyes. "He went for that?" Isabel sneered at at the prone figure.

Consuela relaxed her hand and opened her eyes. "What else can she do?" she asked quietly, stressing the 'she' again. "But she has to fight us, let us know, or pretend, that she doesn't care. It's only natural. After all, she is, in truth, a man. I hope we're not all leaning, though, on a broken reed, for she has to change. She has to be a real woman, in her own eyes, too, if she intends us to believe it as well."

The bathroom door clicked open. Esteban had put on the clothing. The top came just below his hips so that the frilliness of the 'cute' panties was clearly visible. Despite the lack of any cleavage about the neckline of the nightgown, the slim figure retained a genuine femaleness. The slim legs were rounded and tanned, without the bulky musculature of the male. To all appearances, 'she'

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was a short-haired girl in a sexy nightie ready for bed.

Consuela rose from the bed to greet the 'girl.' Esteban stood very uncertainly in the doorway, swaying on the feathery, high-heeled slippers that Irena had worn about her bedroom. He looked warily from one woman to the other, ex- pecting a sneer or a knowing wink. But Consuela stepped to him quickly. She put her hands on his thin shoulders, noting that he was now the same size as she was. Gently, she kissed him first on one cheek and then on the other. Then, she took him by the hand and guided him towards the silk-sheeted bed.

over

"Thank you, Irena," she said simply. "I know that this costs you a great deal, and neither Isabel nor I will ever do anything as difficult or dangerous as you are doing

for us now. We think more of

you now for we trust you, Irena, with our lives."

Esteban could think of no appropriate reply. He nodded, a nervous reaction, and soon the girls withdrew from the and he was alone. The air-con- ditioning hummed continuously, but other than that, the whole building seemed ominously silent. Lying on a satin pillow, perfumed very delicately, Este- ban could look about Irena's room and see all the dainty, feminine things that were now his and that he was supposed

to use.

He nibbled at his long thumbnail, surprised by its length and its shape. The warmth of Consuela's greeting as she had pressed the folds of the nightgown against his body, then the candor and apprecia- tion that had been in her voice and manner, had reassured him a little. It was all going to turn out all right.

But then he remembered Irena and how she had really died, and he was suddenly very afraid. He turned restlessly, the